


No Answer At All

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heartbreak, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sting ruined everything. The Authority has been disbanded. Seth Rollins feels numb, then he feels too much of everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Answer At All

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Survivor Series 2014.
> 
> This fic contains hints of Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins

 

 

Seth couldn’t remember how he'd gottten from the ring to the backstage area. He couldn’t remember the route he’d taken or the people that he’d passed on the way. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up sat in on a couple of a kit cases in a dark corner, staring at his Money in the Bank briefcase, the only thing worth a damn that he had left now that the Authority no longer existed.

 

How the fuck had this happened?

 

Yesterday, the Authority had been on top of everything, on top of the world. They’d been so sure of their victory, they’d gotten rid of their weak link (Randy Orton), they’d had a member of Team Cena lodged in their back pocket to guarantee victory (Big Show). They’d been united, and they’d lost. They’d fucking lost and now the Authority had no authority whatsoever.

 

All that power and leverage, everything that Seth had needed to break through that final glass ceiling in order to get the recognition and championship opportunities that he deserved and had always wanted. It was all gone. Now all he had was his briefcase, the one opportunity left that he could count on. After that, he’d be back to scrapping and clawing his way towards anything resembling satisfaction. It’d all been for nothing.

 

Fuck.

 

There was a noise, a croak or a squawk. Seth didn't raise his head but the noise registered. There it was again. Everything else felt muted but that sound had cut through somehow.

 

Seth still didn’t look up. Then there was a crash of feathers and _something_ alighted close by. Seth could see it moving out of the corner of his eye. He slanted a glance, then another, before lifting his head to eyeball a small beady-eyed black bird. Right, of course. Seth was really tempted to throw his briefcase at it. It cocked its head like it knew exactly what Seth was planning and like it wasn’t scared at all.

 

Just like its owner, host, whatever.

 

Sting. What business had he had interfering like that? He was supposed to be an ambassador like Hogan was nowadays, a legend from way back when that was wheeled out for the fans on special occasions. He’d been included in the new WWE video game, he’d gotten his own special trailer on television, and now he’d inserted himself in Authority business. What gave him the right?

 

Seth was a student of the game, he knew who Sting had been, all the things he’d done. Sting had always stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. He’d always pandered to the fans and had been glorified for cutting down those who’d just been buying in. Now he was doing it again, way past retirement age. Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him. Seth peeled off a glove and balled it up before throwing it at the bird. The glove smacked the bird’s tail, the bird squawked again and stared at Seth but it didn’t fly away.

 

Seth was peeling off his other glove when he heard movement, a swish of heavy fabric. He froze, he could have been mistaken. He couldn’t hear any footsteps but there was that noise again and suddenly, there was Sting, appearing as though he’d melted out of the shadows themselves to take up residence against a nearby wall. His striking facepaint was a stark standout amongst the darkness. He stared implacably at Seth, not even breathing hard, not even seeming to breathe at all.

 

Seth stared back. He wasn’t afraid, he was pissed off and he had every right to be. Why did the older generation always refuse to step back and let the younger more deserving talents grab their much-deserved limelight? It was fucked up, especially when everything had been going so perfectly for Seth.

 

“Done playing in the rafters?” he sneered. “Oh, are you gonna beat me again? Take me out so that you can make no point at all?”

 

Sting stared silently. He’d done that before, when he’d first changed from a brash bleached-blonde painted up with bright colors to a brooding avenger dressed all in black. He hadn’t spoken for a year on television but he’d always made his point, with and without his black baseball bat. He was still in shape now, he still held himself in the exact same way. Seth could remember Sting taking out whole crowds of NWO members. Seth wasn’t afraid.

 

Seth got to his feet. “You know what, Stinger? I’m done. I’m just...I’m done.”

 

He picked up his briefcase and the bird squawked again. Sting looked at it for a moment and then back at Seth, like he was waiting for Seth to say more, to realize something. What was there to realize? Sting had wrecked everything that Seth had been working for. He’d given up so much for this, he’d given everything, he’d detonated the most popular and dominant stable that the WWE had seen in years to grab the brass ring. He’d...

 

He’d turned on his best friends. His business associates. No, his best friends. Seth let out a juddering breath and leaned against the nearest kit box. He felt raw just thinking about Dean and Roman, maybe because of what’d just happened in the ring. Maybe that was why he could now be completely honest with himself and silently acknowledge that yes, they’d been his best friends and yes, he’d dropped them for the kind of power and influence that the Shield’s hard work and popularity was never to going to afford them.

 

He’d faced them in the ring, he’d snarled with every bit of resentment that he’d ever felt towards them. He’d bought in and he’d refused to regret it.

 

It’d hurt, a lot, but he’d ignored that, he'd pushed it away. He’d gotten good at that. Only now, now....Seth sucked in deep breaths and felt violently curdingly sick. He dipped his head because his world was spinning and he’d left Dean and Roman behind for nothing. He had the Money in the Bank briefcase but nothing else. Nothing.

 

Dean and Roman had each other. Dean hadn’t won tonight but he’d gotten to beat the shit out of Bray Wyatt and that’d always been what Dean had been aiming to do. He’d probably get to do it again too because Bray definitely wasn’t going to let things lie. Roman was still recovering from his surgery but he still lived in Florida so he and Dean were probably going to hang out, eat and fuck. Seth missed those kinds of nights, he missed Dean and Roman. He  _missed_ them.

 

He clenched his teeth to stop any wretched-sounding noises from escaping, to try and put a lid on the fucking tidal wave of emotion that’d just been unleashed inside of him. He’d been numb before but now everything that he’d kept bottled up for months, for his own sanity, in order to take advantage of every Authority privilege and fucking enjoy himself, now it was all out. There was no reason to hold anything back anymore. No reason at all.

 

There was a quiet noise and another smatter of wings. The bird took flight and landed somewhere near Sting. At least, Seth assumed that’s where it’d landed. When he next looked up, Sting was gone; he’d vanished as instantly and as stealthily as he’d arrived. Of course.

 

Oh, fuck him.

 

Seth dropped down onto his haunches and covered his face with his hands. His hands were empty anyway; he’d left the briefcase on a nearby kit box. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. Neither did he.

 

_-the end_


End file.
